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Last Run Before Ice Over

Sweetwater Sirens call from the black
Their winter gumbo in need of my head
With its old man's mental allspice
My secret recipe

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Anthrópinos Biblio

You were the novel I had 
somewhere on my book shelf
(i never read you)  

the one I wanted my arms
to wrap around some day.
(I never held you) 

I wanted to feel the weight 
of your spine
(how heavy was your cross?) 

to let your words 
send shivers 
down mine.
(tell me how hard you fought.) 

I wanted to see how 
your sleeve 
caught the sun’s rays
(I didn't see you at all) 

in a hot-as-an-oven July,
on a warm-as-ever August day.

I wanted to crash 
into your world,
and crawl beneath its sky.
(I should have) 

Oh but how I hate spoilers,
don’t we all?

I hate them.

I hated the finding out;
(life cheats us all)  

I hated the shapes my mouth made.

Saturdays hurt now.

October smarts my tongue,
it’s too cold.

I was told 
that you were
(too cold) 

because
like oral tradition,
your 
circulation
stopped

Fuck ‘the end’ and 
all the ‘never agains’
I will always 
love y—

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Colourless.

Rid of emotion, isolated
It's your own fault, they say
The voices in your mind echoing

Busy, forever occupied
But for what? you have no friends
they taunt.

You cry under the covers
Sob into sleep
next day claim you got soap in your eyes

not that anyone cares
not that you've got anyone to talk to
more like you shut yourself from the world

Why not let it out instead
you do have love, and love many, so many -
but they don't know

don't know at all.
they think you're cold.
cold and colourless.

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Call me reckless.

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Nightmare

i found myself

with bits of skin beneath my fingernails

knees pressing into couch cushions

curled up fetal position

star-visioned

 

tears turning to acid

i've cried too much - i need to stop

writing a letter without mentioning love

but seeing my emotions watermarking the page

this is my nightmare

 

three pills in my hand

smooth rough smooth

bulbous elliptical flat

 

falling in love - falling into a fitful sleep

falling into the place I miss most

staring impossibility in his eyes

a feral cat sized as wolf lunges

slashing open my chest

 

there are bits of skin beneath my fingernails

i am lucid in my nightmare

pressing my knees into the chest of my friend

nudging me every so often to be sure i'm still alive

curled up fetal position heavy lidded vision

 

this is my nightmare

in the house of my family lost years ago

running down an extending hallway

master bedroom - master bathroom

door locked behind me

bits of skin beneath my fimgernails

disappointment heavy shoulders

sand dollar scabs bloom on my mirrored face

 

this is my nightmare

waking down asleep

falling up gasping on the floor

pain spreading  - chest caving

i crawl into my bed anxiety soaked

cocooned in comforter - pressing back into wall

pretending wall is alive - taking comfort in that

 

but there are still o - positive stains on my face

this is my nightmare

i am glass eyed anthropomorphic iceberg

red handed with bits of my own skin

beneath my fingernails

fresh lattices on my back

angry nerves babbling insanity 

to my unresponsive brain

 

a shadow crashes into me

plunges into my chest

i kick into consciousness

i find myself with bits

of my own skin beneath my fingernails

cold wall behind me

this is my nightmare

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to my unborn a poem

Would my child be born to me,
with Papal's chin and Mother's glee?
would growth be short to just my height,
or taller still above my sight?
would hair be dark or feather light,
and curl to hip or be cut slight?
My child I wonder what you'd be,
a one to win and set men free?
Upon my arms to feel you now,
you suckle with small furrowed brow.
No whines you make with chin up turned,
your eyes so heavy my tickles spurn.
I see you on the first bus ride,
to school with others I wave goodbye.
You do real good and letters cite,
your curious thought full of appetite.
My cheek a tear as I see you off,
but you hop right up your hair a toss.
Then onward years I'm standing by,
as he stands before you smiling bright.
Your dress so smooth the flowers twinkle,
the dance your first, you go I sprinkle
tears land but happy thoughts I have,
your smile is all I want to have.
The years roll on and there you are,
all dressed in white me on your arm.
We're walking down the aisle all blue,
The young man looks and grins at you.
You say your vows, to him be true,
Your heart a gift, you glow anew.
Now on my death bed say goodbye,
no tears of sadness set thoughts aside,
I wish you smile, I come right too,
My thanks for love and years with you.
My child unborn in heaven still,
My womb no good, the dreams askew,
I'll never hold you till once we meet,
at heavens gate where me you'll greet.


- Trish 2009

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Clark

Configuring yourself with binary code and timestamps confused by the wedges of the world didn’t have to make you heartless
you preserved that in saltwater,
killed it,
by yourself
and it is unforgivable to blame for when the clock strikes 2 AM and you are still at 3 hours behind.

You are a bleached body with chemically submerged innocence, stating it has been stained when you’ve soaked it and never rung it to try and dry.
The broken aren’t the broken until they’ve been healed
or disappear trying to.

If suicide is a sin, you wouldn't have outweighed God piling mesh sashes at His feet,
convincing him what you say is what you mean to say
     --you have no approximation of what you intend. 

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wending webs

 

we wend through webs
of cobbled communication
worked carefully to window
our weaves confluence with
writ, winding our wisdoms
with coloured wool
we card and we weave
patterns of wrought
welds, to wrap weak corners
cushion weariness and
coddle wisps of wondering
with comfort.. we crave
creativity in a cadenced weft,
while we contrive the
warp to carry our weight
of whispered confessions
wending, in the cloudy cobwebs
of cobbled communion.
Close your eyes and weave
a chairde* the consolation
of words crooning in confluence,
woven and writ.

 

 (*ah cawr-de… my friends)

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Pontificant

You see the stones
       every day-
  you see the
         mortar.

    You recognise
these things. You think
you know
the rock I come from,
  the bare hard earth
I was    ripped from.

You miss
        everything.

   You do not see
the hands that found me,
their grasping fingers
that probed
and pulled
and
        uprooted me

Split me into
many  many  many
       of myself
brought me
and taught me
how to stand        upright
with the others     my ego-shadows,
my
    brothers.

  You do not see
the hands that chiseled me,
their fine     delicate    strokes
laying a tracery of lines
across my skin,
          the very  lines
you follow
          with your
             subconscious
                eye.

  You do not see
the hands that laid me,
caressed my hard edges
and new soft skin,
 placed me,
 above
between
 beneath
myself, held firm
      so you could    cross
      my tightrope embrace.


You-     dare not see
the rift in the earth
I
     am
             bent
                      over,
       the sinuous slant
           of the river,
     Sister Time.
The slow
          shifting of sediments;
the necessity for my existence,
my eventual demise.


You see me,
a rock.


I am a bridge,
       a path,
       a history.

I    am a tale
told in the half light
from a man
       to his son.

I am majesty
  and mystery.

I am the infinite
                limit
of memory-


I am
all that you will never see-

and more besides.

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Realization

A hard pill

I have to

Swallow

But to swallow

I must.

Of bitter truth and

Harsh reality

That happiness and bliss

In the arms of a

Faithful lover

Is not the destiny

I am meant to live

 

So I shall live

The rising and setting suns

With force smile and laughter

Echoing through

The plastic trees

In my own 

Little

Paradise